


The Beautiful Mrs DiNozzo

by pipisafoat



Category: NCIS
Genre: BDSM, Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-28
Updated: 2011-05-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 20:56:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipisafoat/pseuds/pipisafoat





	1. You Owe Me

*PING*

To: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
From: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
Subject: You owe me.

Next time, I'm not covering your ass.

 

*PING*

To: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
From: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

Don't owe you shit. Fix my bookmarks.

 

*PING*

To: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
From: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

I saved your ass by messing with your bookmarks. Don't you know to hide your porn before Gibbs uses your computer?

 

*PING*

To: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
From: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

I hide the porn that matters. Gibbs won't do anything to me for this. Come on, Probie, everyone expects naked girls!

 

*PING*

To: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
From: tmcgee@ncis.gov

YOU, hide porn? Will wonders never cease?

I bet it isn't online, though. What are you hiding that's worse than naked girls?

 

*PING*

To: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
From: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

Never underestimate an opponent, Probie. Kill you someday. I have more computer skills than you think, and NO, it's not all games. Abby taught me a few things.

As for what kind... not much you'd be interested in.

 

*PING*

To: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
From: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

>>Not much you'd be interested in.

Try me. You might be surprised.

 

*PING*

To: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
From: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

So tell me, what are you into? Or is what you AREN'T a shorter list? Bondage? D/s? Leather? Catholic schoolgirl? Spanking? Or maybe you'd rather **be** spanked. Hmm, what else could you like... Threesomes (or more!), biting, plugs, piercings, clamps, candle wax or fires? Girl on girl or boy on boy? Better not be kids, or you're not our probie anymore.

 

*PING*

To: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
From: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
Subject: You owe me.

What makes me think that's nowhere near what you could list off? And no worries, kids do NOT do it for me. Neither do clamps, biting, fire... well, nothing that involves pain, at least not for me.

Now you've got me emailing about sex at work. Fuck you, DiNozzo.

 

*PING*

To: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
From: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

>>Fuck you, DiNozzo.

You wish. Takes more than a not-even-pornographic email to get ME in bed. Thought of a really interesting one - how's crossdressing for you?

 

*PING*

To: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
From: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

>>how's crossdressing for you?

Only if YOU're the one wearing the dress. And the heels. Can't forget the heels.

So is that just a laundry list of your favorites? You forgot "whatever I can get", if so.

 

*PING*

To: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
From: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

>>Only if YOU're the one wearing the dress. And the heels.

Now we're getting somewhere, but I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more detailed to really get my interest. Also, I don't have to settle for what I can get, unlike you. I only chase the best. Quit writing that report and write me some porn!

 

*PING*

To: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
From: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

Alright, fine. I'm already going to get fired for this.

So you knock on my door. It's the middle of the night, and I'm working on my novel, so I let you stand out there for a few minutes before I let you in. You're wearing this tight black dress, matching corset underneath, got makeup on - looking all pretty, perfect for a night out on the town, but I'm not going to let you go out. You're gonna get me a beer and then you're gonna dance for me, right there in the living room, with me sprawled on the couch in just an old MIT t-shirt and my boxers. Then when I've had enough of you dancing, you'll get on your knees for me...

 

*PING*

To: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
From: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

Well don't stop there, Probie! I was just getting into it!

If you do get fired, don't worry. You can make a living writing adult novels.

 

*PING*

To: adinozzo@ncis.gov  
From: tmcgee@ncis.gov  
Subject: Re:You owe me.

Can't tell the rest, Tony. I'm too good for words. I just hope you don't mind shaving - dress like that looks pretty funny with hairy legs.

 

 _The next day, when they were sparring in the gym, Timothy McGee felt a smooth leg rubbing against him. "I won't stop writing until at least 10:30, no matter who knocks on the door."_


	2. 10:29

As the numbers on my phone flip to 10:29, I knock on the door, hoping he's less neurotic about his clocks than he is about his computers. Unfortunately, he must keep them all synchronized, and I'm forced to wait outside his door for another minute before knocking again. As soon as I do, he opens the door, shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

"Hi," he says. "You may want to fix your watch, ma'am."

I look at him stupidly. "You may want to fix your brain, McGee. Wearing a dress doesn't make me a woman, okay?"

He shrugs. "Well, if that's how you want to play this, fine. Get inside."

The door closes behind me and locks, the sound suddenly sounding ominous. What the hell am I doing here, anyway? The emails were bad enough yesterday, but now this...

I open my mouth to say it's over and walk out the door, but then I catch sight of him, sprawled on the couch in just an old MIT t-shirt and boxers. Christmas boxers, in August, but I guess I can't say much about his attire. He's not the guy wearing the corset, dress, and heels.

"Get me a beer." I don't move, still trying to figure out if there's a reason other than laundry behind the festive underwear. He sighs after a minute and leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Look, are we doing this? Because if not, it's probably a good idea for you to leave and let me... get back to writing."

Get back to writing? Yeah, right. The Christmas tree at the front of his shorts is looking a bit too tall to just be the way the boxers are made. Fuck dancing, and fuck the beer. I take a slow step towards him, then another.

"Tony. Either way, I won't say anything, so just... what are you doing?"

I grin up at him from my sudden new seat between his legs. "Sit back and enjoy, Probie. There's been a slight change in plans." I run my palms up his thighs and over the boxers - silk, surprisingly. Maybe that's why he's wearing them four months early.

He groans as my hands meet and encircle his erection, letting the silk slide over him. "Jesus... You're supposed to be dancing for me."

"Can't dance," I tell him, nudging his hips up and sliding the boxers off him. "I'm really good at this, though. I come highly recommended, if you feel the need for references."

"I'd rather experience it for myself if you don't mind," he complains, reaching for my head, but I bat his hands away.

"You don't even want to know who my references would be?" I smirk at him and lick slowly up his length. "What's if it's Homeless Sam?" When he reaches for my head again, I shove his hands under his ass and make him sit on them. "Patience, Tim, patience. Good things come to him who waits."

"Smacks on the head come to Tonys who wait," he answers. "Get to it."

Just as I'm sucking his head into my mouth, his cell rings. One of his hands escapes to see who it is, and I pull off. "If that's Gibbs..."

"Just my mom," he replies, muting the ringer and setting it back down. "Don't let it interrupt you."

A moment later, it rings again, but his hand lands on my head before I can pull back. "She always calls twice," he forces out. "Keep going."

With the third ring, I grab the phone and flip it open before he can stop me. Putting on the most girly voice I can manage, I answer. "Hello, Mrs McGee. I'm sorry, your son can't come to the phone right now. I have him tied naked to the bed."

A short quiet is my only answer. I'm about to hang it up when I hear him.

"DiNozzo."

Shit. "Oh, uh, hi, Boss." McGee's eyes widen so far I'm almost surprised they don't fall out, and his poor erection wilts away faster than should be humanly possible. "That part about having McGee tied to the bed? That's a lie. He's sitting here on the couch. Not tied. No bed. Actually, he's even still wearing his shirt."

"DiNozzo."

"Sorry, Boss. How's your evening? Get much done on the boat?" McGee looks like he's about to have a stroke, and I'm still trying to think of a good explanation for me to have been answering his phone that way when my situation suddenly gets much worse.

"Dead Marine. I'm outside McGee's apartment now, so both of you get your asses down here in the next ten seconds and I'll forget this conversation."

As we slide into his car a minute later, Gibbs' eyes slide down my body and a smirk forms on his face.

"Sorry, Tony, no time for you to go change."


	3. For You

When they started this relationship, it wasn't like they'd really thought about it. As time had gone by, as it had turned from random encounters (with Tony in dresses) into something more (with Tony in 'real clothes'), Tim McGee had started to think. One of the reasons he came up with for their whatever-word-he-should-use was that it was a power play. At work, Tony was the one in charge, or at least, more in charge than he was. Since Tony always came over to _his_ house (and wore ladies' clothing), Tim was the one with control over the situation.

None of this explains his current situation, though, a fact he realizes with a quiet laugh. Tony leans over at his chuckle, hooks a finger in the loop on the front of his collar, and whispers in his ear, "Hush, Timmy. Stop thinking about this. There is no science and no rational explanation for this - it just _is_."

Only Tony could get him to do this, he thinks. No, scratch that, only Tony in a dress could get him to do this. (He doesn't mention that Kate could have gotten him into it, partly because Kate wouldn't have been interested in him _or_ his depraved fantasies, and partly because she just plain isn't here anymore.) When Tony tugs gently on his collar, he pushes his old friend out of his mind and looks up at the man... woman... man... at Tony, looking back down on him.

"Yes, sir. Ma'am. Sir?"

Tony smiles gently at him. "Whichever you're more comfortable with, Timmy." He strokes a hand through his boy's hair and guides his cheek to rest on his knee. "Just relax, okay? I'm not going to make you do anything on your first night out."

Tim nods, loving the feel of the high-end dress under his cheek. He wonders for a moment if it's Prada or Armani or some other ridiculous brand-name that only Tony would buy for cross-dressing with his boyfriend, but Tony's hand wrapping around his neck takes his mind back to... well, back to nothingness, and that's just fine with him.

He doesn't notice how much time has passed until Tony reaches down and squeezes his arm. "You alright down there?"

"Mmhmm," Tim murmurs, turning his gaze on his Master's face. "Peachy."

Tony laughs. "Peachy? You sure? You're awfully quiet."

"That's a good thing, for me," he answers, and when Tony doesn't respond immediately, he lays his head back on the comfortable thigh.

"Timmy."

"Yes, sir?" The worshipful look in his eyes would have embarrassed him at any other time, but he knows by the flash in Tony's eyes that it's appreciated.

"Where are you?"

He blinks, squints slightly, and tries to remember. "Some club?"

"That's where _we_ are. Where are you?"

"Right here?" When Tony shakes his head again, Tim feels a couple tears well up in his eyes. "I don't... I don't understand, sir."

"Shh, shh, it's okay." Tony's fingers comb through his hair, and the soothing motion calms him. "What are you thinking about?"

He nuzzles into the hand and struggles to focus on the question. "I'm not sure," he says eventually, slowly.

"Good boy. Where are you?"

"On my knees beside you."

"Why are you there?"

He smiles easily and rocks his head back into the fingers still soothing him, allowing his Master to completely support him. "Because you asked me to," he says. "I'm here... for you."

Tony smiles back, holds the head trusted to him, and leans down to kiss his boy. "Thank you, Timmy," he says softly, setting the head back on his thigh. "You're a gem."


	4. Baby Fever

The phone rings in the middle of him tearing into his senior field agent, and he fixes Byers with a sharp glare. "Don't even think I'm done with you," he says and picks up the phone. "DiNozzo.... Yes, that's me... Yes, ma'am, we are... Yes, absolutely... No, I'm sorry, I'm on call this weekend, so if you need to meet both of us, there's no guarantee I'd be there... Yes, that should be fine. Thank you so much... You, too."

Byers almost flinches when his boss turns back to him, but Tony just grins. "Oh, get to work on something. I have more important things to do." The younger man opens his mouth as if to question his sudden lack of punishment, but he thinks better of it and scuttles back to his desk as Tony strides to the elevator, pulling out his cell phone on the way.

"Hey, babe. Meet me in Abby's lab, okay?" Tony hits the button for her floor, hangs up, and lets out a loud whoop as the elevator doors close on him. By the time the doors open again, he's pacing impatiently.

"Tony, you don't even have a hot case," Abby complains, looking up from her microscope. "Why are you-- Mmph!" It's been a while since anyone has managed to surprise her with a hug, but Tony's sweeps her literally off her feet, sends her spinning around the lab, and ends with a large, wet kiss right on the lips.

"Meeting Tim," he answers, setting her down. "I have news that I hope directly concerns you."

"Tim's here," a voice calls from the door. "Where's my hug and kiss?"

Tony turns to him, grabs him by the hips, and kisses him, long, slow, and deep. "You're too heavy for me to spin," he murmurs when he finally releases his husband. "Getting there, though." He pats the shrinking stomach fondly and drags him by the hand over to Abby. "So, I got a phone call just now," he starts excitedly.

"Oh, that's something that doesn't happen every day!" At Tony's pout, he gestures for the man to continue.

"From Melissa Ethridge," he clarifies. The other two give him blank looks, and he sighs. "Melissa Ethridge! Of Ethridge Family Services! Come on, you two, we're pregnant!"

Tim stares at him, open-mouthed, and actually takes a step back. "We what?"

"She found us a match." Tony grins. "We're approved for adoption, Probie! Come on, put on your happy face!"

Abby squeals and flings herself at Tony. "Omigod omigod omigod! Tony! Timmy! Omigod, you guys! You're having a baby! I'm so proud! Are you so proud? You should be proud! McGee! Be proud! A kid!" She suddenly pauses. "Who else have you told?"

"Nobody, yet," Tony replies. "Who gets to hear before Tim, Abbs? Really? And you need to know earlier if you're going to be the godmother."

"YES! Yes yes yes yes yes! Are you guys serious? Yes, I'll be the godmother! I love you guys, and your baby is going to be _so cute_. Even it won't have your genes." She pauses again. "Can... can I tell Gibbs?"

The men look at each other and nod. "He wouldn't want to hear it from anyone else."

"Will you come with me?" The sudden sadness in the room sobers them all, and Tony pulls them both into a hug.

"I can't," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Abbs. You know I can't."

She nods and kisses him gently on the cheek. "It's not his fault."

Tim adds a kiss to his other cheek. "I'll go with you, Abbs."

"Thanks. Now! Tell me everything, Tony. Do you have a picture of the parents? Is one of you going to donate to be the father? Do you know what sex you want? How long is it going to take? What are you going to call the kid? Can I help you decorate the baby's room and buy all its stuff? Where are you going to have it baptized?"

Tony grins at her and kisses his husband. "I've got to get back to work. Have fun answering her questions, love!"

As he steps into the elevator, he hears Tim's stunned whisper. "We're going to be _parents_."


End file.
